


Oxen Lowing, Little Knowing

by Merixcil



Series: Advent Fics 2018 [2]
Category: Kill Bill (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Murder, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:27:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25187926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merixcil/pseuds/Merixcil
Summary: O-ren takes Beatrix on a training exercise that is as much pleasure as business
Relationships: O-Ren Ishii/Beatrix Kiddo
Series: Advent Fics 2018 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1824643
Kudos: 4





	Oxen Lowing, Little Knowing

Up in the hills surrounding Hakone, the thick snow conceals death traps and swan dives that have taken the form of loose stones, threatening to bury the two of them beneath an avalanche that no one but they would hear. Beatrix blinks, still trying to properly adjust her eyes to the dark, and steps into a divot she’s sure was left by O-ren’s foot. 

O-ren is paces ahead of her, slipping between the trees like she’s taken this route a hundred times before, in snow or sunshine. If the placid smile she keeps flashing over her shoulder is anything to go by, she has. 

“I did not come out tonight to watch you crawl along behind me like a tortoise.” O-ren says. Beatrix freezes up, in the quiet of the forest, a voice can travel. 

O-ren roles her eyes. “Please. These idiots are like cattle. Even if they do hear us coming, they’ll think it’s just the farmer bringing fresh hay.” She waits, tucked up next to a tall pine, and holds out a hand to help Beatrix over the mess of rock and frozen soil. 

“Bill said we should always-” Beatrix is cut off by O-ren’s hand over her mouth, her laughter, her shining eyes reflecting the light from the snow which reflects the light from the moon which reflects the light from the sun.

“No Snake Charmers here, Black Mamba.”

The samurai of old took young men as apprentices and made love to them at the end of each day, when the bruises and cuts of their training were still fresh. So it was when Beatrix met Bill, over the bloody mess of her first inelegant kill, and now that O-ren has been instructed to perfect her training in the exquisite art of the samurai sword, so it is between the two of them.

Pushing her up against the trunk of the tree, hard enough to displace the snow caught in it’s lower branches, leaving white patches on the skin tight black they have both dressed in for the occasion. 

Black, it transpires, is a poor camouflage against the snow. The hand peels away from Beatrix’s mouth to be replaced by O-ren’s tongue, quick and insistent. Short cut black hair tickles her cheek, and it's a point of particular envy that her and Elle share that they have to cover up their natural blonde for stealth work. 

When she pulls away, Beatrix leans in to chase her, almost losing her balance in her haste to bring O-ren back. 

“Enough of that.” O-ren squeezes her hand. “We have work to do.”

It’s another half hour up the mountain before they find it, the thick wooden beams that support the dead weight of the building and the snow piled on top of it. The windows, papered over to trap the heat inside, glow with a prescient warmth, making the bathhouse appear as a lantern hung amongst the trees. 

The fire that must be snuffed out. 

O-ren turns to Beatrix, the smile left her lips but still evident in her eyes. She taps a finger to her ear. Listen. 

Listen is a lesson Beatrix is struggling to learn. She knows see, she knows touch, she’s even pretty good at smell but listening is hard. Her blood roars in her ears as she builds towards the kill, and after it. Her heart won’t stop hammering in her chest, and the sound is all she has ears for. 

When she stops and holds her breath, when she cuts through the noise of her own accord, she can hear the voices though. The men, inside the bathhouse. What’s left of the Tanaka clan, still dragging O-ren’s name through the mud like that’s any of their business. They could have killed these men back in Osaka but that would have been too easy. The Cottonmouth is supposed to be inescapable, her sphere of influence enough to kill a man in his sleep, right where he lives. 

These men will not be asleep when they go. They will die screaming. Beatrix smiles, despite herself, and hopes she doesn’t look too much like Elle. 

Someone is singing We Wish You A Merry Christmas, so slurred it’s hard to tell if it’s in English or Japanese. 

O-ren rises onto her tiptoes and presses her mouth against the shell of Beatrix’s ear. When she speaks, her voice is so soft it feels like the wind disturbing the trees, forming words by happenstance rather than design. 

“Do you hear them?” O-ren asks. “Do you hear them braying and screeching like farm animals? They don’t suspect a thing.”

Beatrix closes her eyes, nods just once. She doesn’t trust herself to talk, not this close to the end of the road. 

Their swords leave their sheathes without a sound, oiled to perfection and sharpened on O-ren’s personal whetstone for hours before they made the long drive out to Hakone. As they approach the bathhouse, Beatrix is already thinking about the blood staining the tatami in the aftermath, the fire burning in the sleeping quarters, the baths intended only for men. She’s thinking of her own bruised body and how she will lay down in the wreckage of her training. 

And like any good master, O-ren will join her. 

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally posted as part of a multi chaptered 'advent fics' fic that I'm trying to split up. If you think you've read it before, you probably have


End file.
